


Old Man Fucker

by goldengan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Large Cock, M/M, May/December Relationship, Nonbinary Character, Older Man/Younger Reader, One Night Stands, One Shot, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Size Kink, because that's self-indulgent to me, reader is a pillow princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15835188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldengan/pseuds/goldengan
Summary: You turn your gaze to the bar before you even know why. Locked in your eyes is an older man with a greying beard and hair, looking to be sitting by himself, and you can’t help but smile at him. When he smiles back, your nickname creeps up on you: Old Man Fucker.Jodie, the walking HR disaster she was, told everyone in the office about the nickname she gave you at last year’s conference. Now the nickname had stuck, even in your own mind, and you wondered if you should have been called “Old Man Fucker” since highschool.~In which a self-assured gender-fluid reader gets the attention of Hank Anderson.





	Old Man Fucker

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I was going to have the reader be demure and second guess themselves. But that got old fast because, I mean, where’s the fun in that?! So, I decided to make a self-assured reader. Reader uses they/them pronouns so everyone can read and enjoy the old man fuckin’. 
> 
> FYI: Mx. is the gender neutral of Mrs./Ms./Mr. and is pronounced “mix”.
> 
> ♥️

**2036**  
“You do realize that’s the second older man to make eyes at you? Oh wait -- scratch that -- make it three.” 

“And? What of it?”

Jodie blinks fast through her eye roll, “Oh my god, you don’t even notice, do you?”

Well, that was certainly true. You had no idea what she was on about. You shrug in answer, tongue playing with the straw as you sucked down some awful excuse for a Long Island Iced Tea. 

“Old dudes absolutely _fawn_ over you.”

“Okay?” 

“It’s because you look back at them like… holy shit…” She turns her body to the man you’re smiling at, turns back quick and says, “Like that!”

You roll your eyes. “Well, so what?”

“So, you’re admitting it? You’re an old man fucker?”

The bartender glances up, sour look plain on his face before he can school it back. He gives you a questioning eyebrow, seeming to be asking about the drinks but who knows. You give a thumbs up and a nod. 

“Like, for a great example, look what you did to that dude?”

“What did I do? I told him we were good.”

“First of all, I’m not. I wanted more. And, secondly, you just dismissed that man as if he wasn’t the sexiest bartender I’ve ever seen.”

“You shouldn’t flirt with people when they’re just doing their job, you know.” 

Jodie’s face is all lines with that statement. She seems to get a text, or she’s just ignoring you, and is busy on her phone. 

A few minutes pass before the bartender slides you a drink. Before you can protest, he says, “It’s from that _older_ man there,” and he points. 

You turn around to look and, well, he’s distinctly on brand for Mx. Old Man Fucker. 

“You’re going to ditch me for that old codger?” 

A bit presumptuous, you can’t help but think. But then, in moments, he’s sitting on the other side of you, whispering in your ear. From the corner of your eye you can see Jodie’s annoyance melt into a mix of overwhelming envy and impish “I told you so” that only she could pull off. She slides off the bar stool, says she’ll be in the room you two are sharing, and walks off. 

It was strange when she put it into words, as you never really thought to, but you did seem to attract a certain type of man.

* * *

**2037**  
You could have gone straight to your room to settle in for the night; you did have another long day tomorrow. But being all alone in a stark white hotel room strikes you as borderline psychotic after the day you’ve had. So you head straight for the hotel bar after the last meeting. Immediately the noises are a balm from the quiet of your day. The clicking of your keyboard is barely audible over the chatter and laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the bass rumbling through your chest. You look up for a moment, enjoying the revelry around you. 

You turn your gaze to the bar before you even know why. Locked in your eyes is an older man with a greying beard and hair, looking to be sitting by himself, and you can’t help but smile at him. When he smiles back, your nickname creeps up on you: Old Man Fucker. 

Jodie, the walking HR disaster she was, told everyone in the office about the nickname she gave you at last year’s conference. Now the nickname had stuck, even in your own mind, and you wondered if you should have been called “Old Man Fucker” since highschool. And you enjoyed Jodie’s company, despite anything tied to logic or reason, but it was nice to be alone at this years conference. This feeling is amplified when he catches your eyes again, sweeping hair off his shoulder to get a better look at you. After all, you work better alone. 

A lump rises to your throat, a match to your increased heartbeat. Despite your nerves, you lean into your proclivities and wink at the man, lips upturned a bit in a suggestive smile. He’s taken aback, only for a moment, until a knowing grin plays across his face. You’re nearly done with your rundown of the day so you decide to finish up. It’s important not to look too eager, you think as your heart continues thumping. 

You give in a few moments later and look up, only to find him gone. You’re frowning until the couch dips and he’s next to you, smirk obvious. And, god, he smells as good as he looks. You find yourself leaning closer to enjoy it, head dizzying at the sparse cologne that intermingled nicely with what had to be gun metal. 

“You look hard at work,” he says, slowly lifting his glass to take a sip from his drink. He sounds confident, but you feel nervousness radiating off him -- maybe you’re projecting. You watch the elbow of his jacket crinkle. It’s a bit worn but it hangs nicely on his body, showing off his broad physique. 

You nod, “Just finishing up this report.” You roll your shoulders and lean back into the cushions. Now that you have a better look at him, you feel your face blush. He’s much more attractive up close.

“So, what is it you do?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

His face turns pink, seeming shy as he looks away. 

“I’m only here for a couple of days. Then I’m heading back home.”

“Where you from?”

You give him a look that could only be taken as _seriously?_ His deep chuckle runs through your body and hits you in all the right places, your arousal already pooling in your stomach. You find yourself wondering what he’d look like naked and on top of you. 

“Look, I don’t normally walk up to strangers and hit on them.”

“Oh,” you slowly place your right arm behind him at the head of the couch. He leans back so you’re touching, the heat of his body tingles your skin. “That’s a good line. I don’t hear it often enough.”

His eyes thin but his smile gives his motives away. There’s a nice, slight gap between his front teeth. And he’s got nice lips for an older white man. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he says, “I’m Hank.”

You smile back, “I’m y/n.”

“Should we shake hands?”

“I don’t know if I trust myself to keep my hands off of you.”

A corner of his mouth upturns as he shakes his head. “Now that deserves a drink, but you seem too smart to mess with an old man like me.” Hank’s generation was so self-deprecating that others found it off-putting. You find it endearing.

You turn to your work, save it, and close the laptop. “Any plans for tonight, Hank?”

“Not until I saw you.” Hank looks flustered by his own words as soon as he speaks them, “Wow, can’t believe I actually said that.”

A laugh curls out of you before you can curb it. You’re worried that he might take it badly, but he appears relieved. “You’re too sweet.”

He crinkles his nose good-naturedly, “You don’t know me well enough if you think that.” Hank’s closing the distance between you two. 

Well, no use prolonging the inevitable. “Let’s get to know each other better.” You pull out your spare cardkey from your wallet and hand it to him. His eyes are wide as he grabs it with two fingers. “Meet me in fifteen minutes?”

“I’d be stupid to say anything but “yes,” huh?” He’s staring at the room number printed on the key. 

“You’re the one who came on to me, Hank.”

“Yeah, surprised it worked.”

You lean forward, erasing the invisible barrier between the two of you, “There’s no pressure.” You tuck hair behind his ear, let your hand fall to his shoulder, your lips brushing against his ear, “Hope to see you soon, Hank.” His muscles flutter at the touch of your words.

Hank moves his head, most certainly to steal a kiss, but you pull away to gather your things. When your eyes meet again as you’re standing, you can see his thoughts plain on his face, _tease_. You leave with a conspiratorial wink, arousal far surpassing the butterflies in your stomach. 

~

The alarm clock, perched on the nightstand beside you, shows it’s been eighteen minutes since you left the hotel bar. You’re trying not to let yourself be upset as it’s happened before and it will certainly happen again. That’s just the statistics of it all. But, out of anyone you’d ever invited to your hotel room over the years, you really hoped Hank would take your invitation. Your suffering doesn’t last long, as you jolt at a knock on your door. You’re certain you gave him the spare cardkey but you can’t help but appreciate the gesture. 

He begins a greeting as you open the door but, at the sight of you, his mouth hangs open. He’s drinking you in, his eyes moving openly along your body. You changed into your night clothes, a tank top and short shorts. The top has thinned with age and, certainly in the low light of the entryway, it’s thrilling that Hank is already viewing your barely obscured chest. 

When a door opens down the hall, Hank steps inside quickly. You take the opportunity to close the door and lead him inside. 

“You, uh, still up for this?”

Normally you’d quell any hesitation with a well-placed kiss but you aren’t sure you could reach him, even on tiptoes. You make your way to the bed, sit on the end, and pat a spot next to you by way of answer. He nods and obliges quickly, the mattress tilting you towards him once he’s seated. You’re close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath but you don’t touch yet. You don’t want to sway his decision. He can leave if he wants to. 

His eyes are kind, staring deeply into yours, making your heart twist, when he asks, “What does a beautiful young thing like you want with a guy like me?”

His hand is resting between the two of you, millimeters apart from your own, a beacon on the bed. “You’re giving yourself too little credit.”

“I don’t usually, um…” His free hand rubs the back of his neck, “do things like this, y/n.”

“It’s up to you but don’t think for a second that I don’t…” your lips move against his jaw, “want you. So bad.”

The air heavies with your admission. 

His free hand cups your face, you lean into his touch. Hank’s eyes move leisurely along your face to settle on your lips. At first, he’s whisper soft against you, his beard tickling. His thumb glides across your collarbone, your mouth opens in response, a moan low and heavy, as his teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re tempted to deepen the kiss but the energy between you feels breakable, like any moment he could decide to leave. He deserves that much so, for now, you let him lead. 

Time stretches on around your shared kisses. The softness of his lips and body a direct antithesis to his hands gripping around your middle, lining you up against him. How could you not want more of him? 

You break the kiss, hands on his jacket to pull it off. Unbuttoning his shirt. Sliding the clothing down his broad shoulders and arms. He’s mumbling an apology that you hardly register, your brain slow from lack of blood. Too old, too out of shape, too something – he couldn’t get it out, your mouth stopped his words. 

Hands on his chest, fingers buried in his wiry hair, his voice cuts through your fog. “You sure?”

You’ve dealt with self-loathing before; it comes with the territory of sleeping with as many millennials as you have. In response you slide off your shorts and top, leaving only your underwear. You lay in the center of the bed, pillows framing your head. “Take off your pants so you can fuck me.”

You watch his neck and chest turn pink as he stands to toe off his shoes and unbuckle his pants, but leave on his underwear, mimicking you. Once he’s finished, you gaze, half-lidded, at his body. It’s obvious, even from here, that he’s strong underneath his soft. When your eyes finally drag up to meet his, he’s red faced, biting his lip. 

“Come here.”

He does. He settles next to you, an arm propping him up as the other palms your chest. His large and calloused hands drag deliciously along your skin. You moan, wanting him inside you when his fingers brush against your nipples. His hand works its way to your lips and you take a thick finger in your mouth, tongue laving over the digit. The moan that slips from his lips reverberates through the core of you.

Hank slots himself between your legs, his arousal clear against you, even with his clothed cock. A hand travels down your body. You writhe up to deepen his touch, especially when he reaches between your legs.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

And your wetness feels amplified as he presses into it. You shiver in a mixture of want and the cooling temperature of your slick. Hank slides down, kissing your body along the way, and lowers his mouth to your sex. Your underwear are thin but his thick tongue is so tantalizing that you’re thrusting to his touch. His saliva mixing with your wet want.

His tonguing and teasing over your most sensitive areas have you arching off the bed. Your hands balled in the sheets. He moves your underwear to the side and moans when he tastes you. His name is on your lips but you sigh about wanting to be split on his cock instead, undignified whimpers throughout. 

With that, he deems your underwear to be in the way and pulls them down. Hank leaves little lag time between, his hot mouth immediately covering your sex. You’re shamelessly pressing yourself to his face. His chuckles tumble through you, vibrating your insides. The feeling leaves you pleading, begging for him to fill you with something. Anything. It doesn’t matter. Please. Fingers, tongue, his cock. As long as it’s him. 

Your words fail you once he slides a finger inside you, slowly hooking it up, his tongue licking you all the while. Surely you can be heard through any wall in the room by now. 

After a few minutes of his fingers inside you, he stands and you groan from his absence. When you lean on your elbows to see where he went, you watch him digging inside his discarded pants pockets. He pulls out a condom and a packet of lube. You’re a bit startled that he did this without you saying anything. It’s abnormal, yes, but highly welcome. 

Hank stands next to you, looming over you so broad that you can’t help but feel so small in comparison. He lays the condom on the nightstand and rips open the packet of lube. His fingers, once coated in slick, enter you one by one. It’s a strange situation. He’s standing over you, leaning slightly as he’s fingering you, preparing you for what you can see of his covered cock. 

He scissors his fingers as you say, “Please, god, Hank, I can’t take it anymore.”

Staring at his cock, face to face in front of you, now that he’s stripped of his underwear, it’s… daunting. You sit up and reach for the foil packet, pinch the tip and slide it down his thick length; the warmth of him practically magnetic against your hands. 

The bed shifts and he’s over you, hair framing his face. He’s on his knees, angling your hips up in his large hands, shoulders and arms flexing easily at the motion. He’s holding you up, while lining his cock to you, as if it’s no trouble at all. But then his cockhead is at your entrance and you balk. It’s already so thick, thick, thick. Your eyes are wide.

“You okay?” He’s worried and it doesn’t seem like it’s for himself. How many times has someone told him they couldn’t fuck because of his size, you can’t help but wonder. It’s a lot and you’re trying to relax around him as you’d be ever so remiss to never have this beautiful man inside you. It’s going to be a tight fit, but he’s already prepared you and for the love of fuck you want him so badly.

You must have said as much out loud because he responds as he slides slowly inside you, “I can see that.” 

He’s fully inside and you can swear your vision is blurring. Oh, it is, tears are welling up in your eyes. You’ve never had anyone this big inside of you before. You’re gasping, chest heaving. It’s difficult to find breath when you’re this full but it’s oh so fucking fantastic. 

“Baby, you’re so tight.”

You want to say, “It’s not that. It’s your dick. It’s fucking huge.” Instead you say, “Hank… please.” Because it’s all you’re able.

He begins thrusting. First at a deliciously slow pace, allowing your body to accommodate his thickness. Your moans come in pants, nearly sounding like you’re weeping, and maybe you are. It’s nearly unbearable, a pain that’s too pleasurable. He’s taking you to the edge with just the sheer size of him. 

But then it’s overwhelming – you can’t tell how long he’s been inside you as the feel of his length, the low burn of stretch as he fills you, the deep heat of his cock inside you, leaves you breathless but wanting more. Once Hank hits that sweet spot he doesn’t abate. Again and again and again and you’re arching up to meet his rhythm mindlessly. It feels like hours that you’re nearly cumming.

“Please, please, please. Oh… fuck me Hank.” 

His hands dig into your hips, nails biting on the flesh there, and increases his pace to an erratic rhythm. 

“Fuck, y/n, you’re so good for me.”

Your neck cords as your body stiffens, you must be screaming but no sound leaves your mouth. By the time it does, stars form bright around your vision as your voice, so wracked from pleasure, hardly sounds like you. Tears streaming down the sides of your face. 

He chases after your orgasm, his breath hitting your neck as he’s whispering your name. You pulse your muscles mindlessly around his draining cock, loving the sounds he makes as you milk his aftermath. He sighs and pulls out of you. A relief and a curse. Lube and other wet gushes out of you and falls down your ass and thighs. You feel almost giddy on the other side of one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had. You’re wiping and blinking away tears, panting while laughing. 

Hank’s winded, but he gets up quick. Before your brain catches up to the emptiness in the bed, he’s back with two wash cloths in his hand. Somehow his cleaning between your legs feels more intimate than anything you’ve done with him so far. Then, he’s lying next to you, muttering apologies into your skin and you’re laughing again, “Should I be flattered or is this normal?”

His shoulders relax at your question, you feel a smile on your neck, “six of one…” He throws the ruined washcloths on the floor.

Sweat cooling quick on your skin, you turn your head to face him, and you can see in his eyes that he’s nervous again. He moves to leave you once more but you place a hand on his shoulder and smile. Or, you try your best to. “You should stay.”

His smile mirrors yours when he says, “It’d be stupid to say anything but “yes,” right?”

You nod as you pull the sheets over both of you, sliding next to him, leg curling around his under the covers, “Right.”

**Author's Note:**

> wowie I wrote about a pillow princess. Guess this was a self-insert all along 
> 
>  
> 
> leave a comment if you enjoyed ♥️
> 
>  
> 
> you can follow me on my twitter [goldenganjj](https://twitter.com/goldenganjj) for fic updates and fandom nonsense


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